Thursday, October 13, 2016

a beautiful, but sad good-bye

I meet Allen and his wife Maddie around 8 this morning. We are driving up to Westchester for Carol's funeral at 10.

We arrive at 9:30, and already the very long road leading up to the synagogue is lined with cars. While Carol never liked being the center of attention, I think she would be happy seeing the large number of people who have come today.

There are no empty seats. In fact, video and audio equipment are brought in, so the 50 or so people who can't find standing space within the sanctuary (even including the balcony) can be part of the service.

The eulogies are all beautiful. They are filled with humor and warmth. Sadness and love. Her children and Michael (her husband) show remarkable strength. Carol was a thoughtful, giving person. Involved in the community. The synagogue. With her friends. And most importantly, her family. 

When Michael talks about Carol's natural instincts as a mother — how each child was mothered differently, depending on who they were and what they needed— it wasn't possible to remain dry-eyed. 

When Melanie, Carol's only daughter, says, "Every morning, my mom would come in my room to wake me up and say, 'Waking you is like unwrapping a present,' I think, what a beautiful thing to tell your child. And what a precious gift to give her.

Carol's two sons both speak of their closeness to her. It is unusual to see two young men speak of their mother with such admiration and profound and obvious love.

And Carol was, despite the cliche, the true love of Michael's life. He met her at Penn, fell in love, and then 11 years later (yup, it took a while), Carol returned that love. I honestly don't think any two people could be happier than those two were.

Mourners come from all over the country. I sit next to Carol's childhood friend who now lives in Boston. I see people I haven't seen in over fifteen years. One woman comes up and hugs me, addresses me by name. tells me how sorry she is, and even asks, "Did you drive up with Allen?" Neither Allen nor I have any idea who she is.

At the cemetery the rabbi says a brief prayer. And then the mourners use a shovel to throw dirt onto the casket. This is considered a last act of kindness one can do for a loved one — bury them. But the sound of the dirt hitting the casket sounds harsh. My friend should not be there.

Shiva begins immediately after the funeral. Michael's house is filled. But it is not dominated by sadness. People share stories about Carol. Her life is represented in part by the many people who have come to say good-bye. 

Carol is described today in many superlative terms. Woman of valor. Genuine. Generous. Unpretentious. Intelligent. Kind. Gracious. She was all these things.  And more. 

I will miss her big, welcoming smile. Her laugh. Her embracing hugs. And her friendship.


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